Dear Diary,

I am SO laughin’ my fat  lady-toned black man’s ass off, Diary, after Barry and me unveil our formal presidential portraits t’other day.

Y’all can suck a bag uh my d***s, white boys!  Y’all never thought a tranny-ass bitch like me could wrap herself around a goddamn bedspread from the Motel-6 WHERE SHE JUST TURNED OUT  HUMA — Oh, yes I did, Diary — and  present it in such a way that I look like Ima hidin’ a Johnny Wad super Mandingo package under a Pelosi Poodle Skirt that not even Godzilla with 20-inch heels could walk in!

Do NOT make me take my earrings off, Diary!

Damn! Now I forget!  Oh yeah, leadin’ up to a — wait for it! — downtown money-shot finish with Huma, Hildabeast (she in there, too, Diary!),  anna big ole bottle ah gin!

Damn, Diary! What a warm time we were in there but how . . .  keling is here the airabouts!

And Barry —  ole Kehinde, he got Larry Sinclair’s money shot on that down low sweet boy’s n***a -ass face!  Y’all I can’t stop laughin!  Big ole Homunculus for all ah world to see!  And Barry —  Kehinde give him two right hands, too!  As-salāmu ʿalaykum — white boys think he got six fingers!  But Diary,  our cubehouse be rockin as earwitness.  Oh, yes it is!

Hell, that white boy send me ah email, Diary, tellin’ me he can ‘dentify Barry’s little Alfalfa Johnson from when he give him a blowie inna back of a limo, like Ima grab a gun from out my VaJayJay (which as y’all know I don’t have one of,  Diary) an shoot myself!

Is like when Oprah say to me when we doin’ lines together inna baffroom at the muthaf***in Kennedy Center, “Michelle, Ima gonna ask you just once more time — why do I am alook alike a poss of porter-pease?”

Cuz y’all just ate another bag ah Gayle’s d***s, bitch!  Oh, Diary, oh Jesus — damn! My belly sore from laffin!  Ima smoke too much weed again!  But Val gone, an I’m here all alone, an Grindr down!

Anyway, Diary, I became a stun a stummer.

Can’t hear with the waters of.

Flittering bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome, Diary!  So seepy, now.

Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel as heavy as . . . .

Diary!  Telmetale of stem or stone!

Damn, Diary! Ima,  Love.  Y’all.  To.  Death!

(Barry, he lift the lifewand!)

Nite, Diary!  Night, now!

Good night!  Good night, sweet Diary, good night, good night.

— Michelle